


Espionage

by brvnnhilde



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Artificial Intelligence, Being Walked In On, Betrayal, Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, F/F, F/M, Hydra Agent Reader (Marvel), I just put both of those there to keep everyone on their toes, I'm fresh out of tags, Mild Sexual Content, Princeton University, Reader is Secretary Ross's daughter, SHIELD Agent Reader (Marvel), Sexual Tension, Sloppy Makeouts, Thaddeus's bitch ass is everywhere, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, reader gives no fucks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-29
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-02 08:55:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16783738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brvnnhilde/pseuds/brvnnhilde
Summary: The mission was simple: seduce a super hero, sneak into the most secure facility in the world, steal an intelligence file from the earth's mightiest heroes, and get out without anyone noticing. Nothing you hadn't done a hundred times before--give or take a few details. But what you hadn't counted on was that, for the first time in your five year career as an espionage agent, you might get caught.Thrown into the middle of the conflict amongst the Avengers brought about by the Sokovia Accords, you struggle to navigate the toxic whirlwind of a war between friends while fighting an internal war of your own. And when the secrets of your past fall into the hands of a certain billionaire, your future--unfathomable and just out of reach-- hangs in the balance.Sides are chosen and loyalties tested, and you begin to discover that matters of the heart cannot be solved by logic or force, but rather by yielding to your inherent desires.





	1. Rewrite the Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You would rather crawl over burning hot coals than take this mission. But, in the end, what your boss says goes.  
> And your boss says he wants you to steal an intelligence file from Iron Man.

> “Can I trust you to get this done?”

You kept your face neutral, letting your finger trace the rim of the espresso cup on the table in front of you. Your hair fell in waves over your shoulders, held back from your face by the opaque sunglasses you always seemed to have on your person, but still hiding your ears—and the apparatus you wore. It was through that device that you took all your calls these days. It was far more convenient than a handheld cell phone, especially in your line of work.

You kept your voice low as you answered, not wanted to draw the attention of any other clientele in the small Parisian café you were sitting at.

“You can trust me to _try_ ,” you pursed your lips, slightly irritated that he would deign to call you with a mission when your current assignment was still leaps and bounds from being completed. “I can’t make any guarantees.”

“I keep you around because guarantees are your specialty,” he said, the deep gruffness of his voice baring a nonchalance that you knew well.

“You do realize that the facility you want me to infiltrate has better security than the Pentagon, right?”

You could hear him chuckle at the other end of the line. “That’s why I called you. You’re the best I’ve got, Ross.”

“Why don’t you just ask him for the file?” You lifted the espresso cup to your lips, taking a small sip. “You know him well enough. And he trusts you, doesn’t he?”

“As much as he can in his line of work, but I’m not going to trouble him about any of this if I don’t have to. It’s better if you can get in and out without anyone knowing,” he replied.

You could hear the faint sound of hand-to-hand combat in the background of his end of the call—the grunts and heavy breaths of sparring, and a pained moan from what must have been a landed hit. Then, an irritated yell from a female voice. As much as you wanted to ask what the hell was going on wherever your boss was shacking up at the moment, you knew that was a conversation for another day.

“What about the intelligence disk?” you asked.

The intelligence disk was the reason you were in Paris in the first place. You hadn’t the slightest idea what was on it, though your boss had promised that you would be present when he went through it once it was in his possession. All you knew was that it was hidden somewhere in the pedestal of the _Winged Victory of Samothrace_ sculpture in the Louvre, and you had been tasked with the mission of getting it. And, if things went according to plan, in less than twenty-four hours you would be on your way to meet your boss with the disk in tow.

“I’ll send someone else to finish what you’ve started.”

“But I—"

“I need you in Massachusetts,” Each word was drawn out—emphasized. It was clear that he would not be budging on this matter.

You let out a sigh, placing a ten-euro banknote under your cup, and standing up. You knew he would have you on the next flight out whether you liked it or not. “Fine. I hope you’re aware that your chances of obtaining the disk have gone down about seventeen percent now that I’m not on the mission.”

He let out a chuckle. “Yes, I know.”

And the line went dead.

⏛

“Help me out: what’s the MIT admissions statement?” Tony Stark said from center stage in the Kresge Auditorium. “‘To generate, disseminate… and preserve knowledge. And work with others… to bring it to bear on the world’s great challenges.’”

You stood behind one of the curtains at stage right, listening as he trailed off every few words of his recitation, seemingly allowing the audience of university students to catch up with him.

The task of slipping past the security at the doors of the auditorium had been oddly simple. With the fitted navy-blue pantsuit you wore, the panthos glasses resting on the bridge of your nose, and the folder you carried, it had been all too easy to blend in with the staff. And, seeing as all the female engineering students that had come to listen to Stark speak had quite obviously overdressed, you were certain you would be able to fit into any crowd without fail.

“Well, you are the others,” Stark continued. “And, quiet as it’s kept, the challenges facing you are the greatest mankind’s ever known. Plus, most of you are broke.”

As the audience let out a chuckle at the billionaire’s words, a small ringing from the apparatus in your ear informed you of an incoming call. You ignored it, gazing out at Stark as he neared the end of his speech.

A part of you could understand why the audience seemed smitten with him. First of all, his name alone had a certain power that send anyone who heard it clambering to meet him—at least when it came to ordinary people with ordinary lives. But, though, from what you’ve heard about Stark’s personality from your boss, people should be repelled once they _did_ meet him, he had a certain aura about it. His charm, his charisma: it seemed to beckon you closer. And when people listened and followed…well, you may have been only twenty, but you were mature enough to know what came next.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Rather, you _were_. As of this moment, every student has been made an equal recipient of the Inaugural September Foundation Grant. As in: all of your projects have just been approved and funded.”

Suddenly, your apparatus began to ring again. With a small sigh, you pulled away from the curtain, raising a finger to the ear piece to answer the call.

“Ross,” you said, tucking yourself into a corner in the corridor just outside Kresge’s main space. Far enough away from everything that you wouldn’t be overheard.

“How are things going so far?” your boss inquired from the other end of the line.

“Fine,” you replied, glancing out from behind the nook you were stationed in. “I read through the speech before I got to the university. I think he’s almost done.”

You could hear Stark’s voice echoing through the auditorium, the oration that was no doubt written by some poor grad student looking to impress seeming to draw a good reaction from the crowd. _‘No strings, no taxes, just reframe the future!’_

“Good. I trust you have everything under control?”

“Well,” you scoffed jokingly. “I’m still in the early stages right now, so I can’t make any promises, but I’ll update you on my progress later tonight.”

“I’ll be waiting,” he chuckled in response. “I’d wish you luck, but I know you don’t need it.”

You smirked. “You’ll have the file by eleven am tomorrow.”

“Make it ten.”

You raised your hand to the apparatus again, ending the call with the press of a button.

From the cheers you heard reverberating through the auditorium, it was quite obvious that Stark’s speech was coming to a close—if it wasn’t finished already. You stepped out from your nook, knowing you needed to hurry to your spot behind the curtain if you were to cross the billionaire’s path as he left the stage. Your entire mission depended on it.

But, before you could begin your walk back, you found your body colliding with another: taller, broader, and distinctly male. He smelled faintly of spearmint.

You let out a gasp as you stumbled backward slightly, your folder slipping from your grip. Before you could fall, the stranger’s arms lashed out to wrap around your waist, catching you, and your hands moved up to rest on his chest as you steadied yourself. That was when you noticed the suit he wore—a dark jacket overtop a royal blue dress shirt with a white collar. Designer, no doubt. No MIT tenant—student or faculty—would be able to afford such an outfit.

You looked up into the deep brown eyes of the stranger—except it wasn’t quite a stranger at all. It was Tony Stark.

“Easy there,” he said, his lips turned up at the corners.

And so the façade begins.

You allowed a slight blush to rise in your cheeks, averting your gaze: the perfect picture of a timid and modest university student. “I’m so sorry!”

“Don’t worry about it, Honey,” he replied, his hands still resting easily on your hips. “It was my fault.”

“No, no. I wasn’t watching where I was going,”

That wasn’t exactly a lie. You _had_ been planning to throw yourself into him in this manner, but you’d hoped to do it somewhere less… out of the way. Oh, well. There was no going back now.

Stark flashed a winning smile. “Something important holding your attention?”

“Er… you could say that.”

You pulled back out of his arms, adjusting your glasses. Your eyes moved to the folder you’d dropped, and you bent down to begin gathering up the papers that had gone astray.

“Here, let me,” Stark knelt down next to you, reaching for one of the sheets. Suddenly, he halted, and his eyes examined the numbers and markings that spanned it. “Is this—these are algorithms.”

“Oh, I—”

“These are really intricate.” He trailed a finger over the page, and you could almost see the gears in his head turning.

“This is just a little side project I’m working on. Trying my hand at Artificial Intelligence.”

Stark turned his head to look at you. “Computer science major?”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “Not here, though.”

“Anywhere I’d know?”

“I should hope so,” you giggled softly. “Princeton.”

He reached across your body to place the algorithm sheet back in your folder, his eyes never leaving yours. “Makes sense. You look Ivy League.”

“I didn’t know it was possible to _look_ Ivy League,” you replied, though you knew it was. After all, that was the exact thing you’d been going for when you’d picked your costume for this meeting.

Every facet of the mission had been carefully orchestrated, and so far, things were going exactly according to plan. Your boss had provided you with the character—just a profile with all the major elements, allowing you to fill in the smaller details yourself. All you had to do was play the part. And, from the way Stark was gazing at you, you knew that you were doing well.

“So, what’s a Princetonian doing at MIT?” Stark asked, reaching out a hand to help you up now that the algorithm sheets were safely back in your folder. You could infer what he was thinking from the smirk etched upon his face.

“I’m visiting a friend,” you replied, drawing out each word carefully. You took a step back to rest your body against the wall. “But technically I was supposed to be on my way back to Jersey this morning.”

Stark approached you, bracing a hand on the wall beside your head. “Are you going to tell me why you stayed, or should I guess?”

“I may have had an ulterior motive,” Your cheeks flushed once again—because this was the part you had to play, you told yourself. “Your speech was rather engrossing, Mr. Stark.”

He didn’t look surprised that you knew him. Why would he? He was one of the most famous people in the world as of late, especially with the controversy surrounding the Avengers and the lack of method to their madness.

“Mr. Stark was my father. Call me Tony,” he drawled. “What’s your name, Princeton?”

“Y/N.”

You had debated using a fake name, but if something went wrong, you knew it would make no difference anyway. You had worked closely with a few of Stark’s associates in the past. If you came face to face with any of them, they would know who you were whether you were under an alias or not.

“Pretty. It suits you.”

You smiled slightly in response to the compliment.

Before he had a chance to say anything else, you ducked under his arm. You tucked your folder under your arm and turned back to face him one last time—or so it would seem.

“It was nice meeting you,” you continued, pushing your glasses back on the bridge of your nose. “but I should be going. I have a train to catch.”

“You’re taking a train to Jersey? Won’t that take—”

“Forever?” you finished, with a slight chuckle. “Google Maps said seven hours and five minutes, but I guess we’ll see. Not all of us can have our own private jets, Mr. Stark.”

“Tony,” he corrected, and you smiled.

“Tony.”

You made to turn around, when he stepped forward, resting a hand on your arm.

“You don’t look like an economy person, Princeton,” He gave you a once over, a slight smirk on his face. “So why act like one?”

“I don’t follow.”

“My private plane’s next destination happens to be JFK,” He looked down at you pointedly. “Forty minutes, first class, lots of leg room.”

“You want me to come with you?”

“Don’t act so surprised,” he chuckled.

You did your best to look flustered. “Sorry. I’m just…confused.”

“You intrigue me,” he shrugged, his hand trailing down your arm slowly. “I’ve only seen a few pages of your pseudocode, but the algorithms are stunning so far. Not many university students could execute something of that caliber.”

You averted your gaze, your blush intensifying. “It’s just an experiment. Nothing will come of it.”

“But something _could_. I can help you with it, if you want.”

“Really,” Your eyes slide up to meet his. “I—Thank you. That’s really nice of you.”

“Not _all_ the rumors about me are true. I’m not completely heartless,” He winked, and extended an arm out to you. “Shall we?”

You giggled softly, taking it, and the two of you start your walk back down the corridor. You knew exactly where he was leading you. After all, the scan of perimeter that you’d done before the speech had been very thorough. This mission was dire enough that you couldn’t afford to miss anything.

As you approached a door at the back of the building, you pulled out your cell phone, which had been safely hidden away in your jacket pocket. You sent a quick text to your boss.

**“ _Heading back to NYC._ ”**

His reply was swift. **“ _Should I send a car?_ ”**

You smiled, sending one last message and slipping your phone back into your pocket before giving Stark all your attention. **“ _Don’t worry about it. I’m in._ ”**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tony Stark??? is so fucking hard??? to write???
> 
> But is that going to stop me? No it isn't.
> 
> ANYWAY, this is my first time writing reader-insert, so please don't judge me too harshly. And I promise things will get more interesting in future chapters. Just hang in there.
> 
> Let me know what you think!


	2. Optimized Attainment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's just say that Hamlet had one (1) job and he didn't do it properly. (ft. Tony and the Reader being THOSE bitches)

One flight, two car rides, and countless drinks—all of which you’d managed to toss into a house plant when Stark wasn’t looking—later, you found yourself perched on the edge of a stool in the Avengers Facility, papers strewn across one of Stark’s many lab benches. Your hair was tied up in a knot at the base of your neck to keep it out of your way as you “worked.” Somehow over the several hours you’d been there, you’d discarded your suit jacket in some unknown corner of the facility, and the top few bottoms of your blouse had come undone. That had revealed more skin than you were usually comfortable with, but you supposed it helped with the mission.

“Our best option would be to implement more advanced ad hoc decision-making capabilities to the embedded system,” Stark mused. His eyes were analyzing a set of numbers scribbled on a cocktail napkin.

He sat at your side, his thigh brushing yours with even the slightest of movements. Had he always been so close? You couldn’t remember. You may not have been a true computer science major, but you did have more than your fair share of knowledge on the subject, and you’d become unexpectedly enthralled with Stark’s ideas on Artificial Intelligence. As you gazed down at the watch on your wrist, you saw that you’d lost track of time. It was nearly midnight.

Time to wrap things up.

You reached over his body, leaning heavily on him as you did so. You fingers brushed against his as you pulled the napkin from his grasp.

“We can augment the binary with a learning algorithm,” You lifted another sheet of paper, holding the two documents next to each other.

You could feel Tony’s gaze on your face as he spoke. “That would speed up the way it processes data a hundredfold.”

“Exactly,” You met his eyes. “And it would optimize its functioning through an iterative operation in the same way humans engage in practice.”

“You did it,” he said, a smile spreading across his face. He threw an arm over your shoulders and pulled you into a hug.

“ _We_ did it,” you chuckled softly, finding that—despite the fact that you were there to steal from him—you rather enjoyed his company.

Oh, well. No one ever said this sort of occupation was easy.

Stark stood, lifting your empty wine glasses from where they sat forgotten in the far corner of the lab bench. “Celebratory drinks?”

You nodded with a smile, watching as he retreated to the other side of the room to fetch another bottle of the Domaine Dujac Charmes-Chambertin Grand Cru he seem to have a hidden stash of. Then, you lifted a finger to your apparatus.

“Operation Black Bag is a go,” you whispered softly to the agent on the other end of the line.

He let out a laugh, the click of keys echoing in the background of the call. “Took you long enough.”

Within the agency, he was called Hamlet: an operative with only level one clearance, but a master hacker all the same. Though the two of you had been good friends since the beginning of your careers, you’d never bothered to learn his real name. It had never been necessary. As long as he did his job properly and got your coffee order right, you were content to let him be the namesake of an estranged Shakespearean protagonist if he so desired.

“Shut up,” you retorted, fighting back a giggle of your own. “Cue the diversion.”

“Already on it, Buttercup,” he replied. Buttercup: a rather unfortunate nickname that had been born of a complicated mission a few years back. But that was a story for another day. “What are you feeling today? Breach? Fire alarm? I think I could work my way into the main database for the Iron Man suits too, if you want.”

“Don’t be overdramatic. I would rather not have a repeat of Budapest,” You nearly shuddered thinking of that deputation. “A phone call’s fine.”

“Did you say something, Princeton?”

You swiftly pulled your hand away from your apparatus, glancing up at Stark as he returned to your side with the wine in hand. You shook your head with a smile and accepted the glass he’d extended to you. You lightly tapped it against his.

“To us,” you said and took a sip, your eyes never leaving his.

“Easy there,” you heard Hamlet chuckle through the apparatus. “This a mission, not a fantasy suite episode of the Bachelor.”

_Bastard,_ you thought. _He must be watching through the cameras._

Well, if Ham didn’t get the distraction going soon, things were going to get a hell of a lot more heated than they already were. You had yet to decide whether or not that was a good thing.

“To us,” Stark swallowed a mouthful of his own wine before setting the glass atop the lab bench. You followed suit, watching the smile that tugged at his lips. “You know, you’re nearly as smart as me. I might have to start watching my back.”

“Nearly?” you giggled softly, feigning offence.

“Hey, my ego’s pretty big. ‘Nearly’ is the best you’re going to get.”

“Well, then,” You rolled your eyes with a slight smirk. “I guess I enjoy giving you a run for your money.”

With each second that passed, the two of you seemed to be drifting closer together. You told yourself it was him who was closing the distance.

“I prefer to pay someone to run for my money,” he replied, his voice growing quieter as he gazed at you.

“That’s a bit conceited, don’t you think?” To your surprise, your tone had lowered as well. You hadn’t even forced it—it just sort of…happened.

“Maybe,” Stark drew his tongue along his lower lip, his fingers reaching up to trace the frames of your glasses. “You won’t be completely blind if I take these off, will you?”

“Not completely,” You shook your head, letting him draw the glasses from your face and setting them on the bench.

“Good. I could barely see your eyes.”

Then he was leaning in, his face so close to yours that you could feel his breath against your lips. His nose brushed yours and your eyes fluttered closed. Just another inch and you’d be—

“Pardon the intrusion, Mr. Stark,” a monotonous female voice said, bearing a slight Irish accent. The words seemed to come from every corner of the room at once.

Stark pulled back with a sigh, rolling his eyes. You did the same.

“I’m in the middle of something, F.R.I.D.A.Y.”

“I’m well aware of that, Sir.”

You flicked your gaze in Stark’s direction, raising an eyebrow. You knew all about the A.I. that acted as his personal assistant, of course. But there was no way that the innocent Princeton undergrad you were pretending to be would have the slightest notion of Tony Stark’s most private technology.

“She’s…kidding,” Stark said to you before directing his attention back to the A.I. “This better be important.”

“The President is on the phone, Sir.”

_The President?_ So much for not being overdramatic. You were going to kill Hamlet the next time you saw him.

“Send him to voicemail,” Stark said dismissively.

“Mr. Stark—”

“Fine. Answer, say that he picked the worst possible time to ring me up, and tell him to call back during business hours.”

“I was under the impression that every hour you’re awake is considered a business hour.”

“I don’t pay you to question me, F.R.I.D.A.Y.”

“You don’t pay me at all, Sir.”

“Tony,” you cut in, resting a hand on his shoulder. “You can’t ignore the President of the United States.”

His mouth drew up at the corners in a smirk. “I’ve done it before.”

You looked at him pointedly. “Tony—”

“Fine,” he said with a mock sigh, taking your hand and pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re trying to get rid of me.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, doing your best not to let your face tighten at the comment. You watched as he strode through the door at a leisurely pace.

As soon as he was gone, you raised a hand to your apparatus.

“We’re clear to disable security, including the A.I., if you don’t mind,” you said to Hamlet. “Just _please_ watch the phone lines.”

“That happened one time. When are you going to let it go?”

“When we manage to get through a mission without any hiccups. Hurry up.”

“Bitch,” he muttered, the sound of his fingers flying over computer keys filling your ears. “And…we…are…good to go. You have about nine and a half minutes before you’ll be back out of the gap.”

You smiled. “That’s more than enough.”

You rushed to the wall of screens at the far end of the room, eyeing the password bar that graced the largest of them. You pulled the keyboard to you.

“There’s around a hundred million possible access codes,” Hamlet said. “I installed the first fifty percent of the decryptor from here, but you’ll have to do the other half on your own.”

“Which type is it?”

“Optimized Attainment. This is Stark tech, so we can’t be too careful.”

“On it.”

You inserted a flash drive into the USB port and installed the decryptor with ease—you had learned from the best, after all, though you would never let Hamlet know you thought so. While the system calculated hashes, you glanced behind you, making sure you were still in the clear.

“You’d better have a plan for how you’re going to get out of there,” Hamlet mused. You could have sworn that his voice bared a slight anxiousness.

You scoffed. “I always have a plan.”

“I hope so. Otherwise you might end up having to sleep with Tony Stark.”

“Have you seen the guy?” you smirked, glancing back to the screens to see that the decryptor had worked. You were in. “I don’t think that would be such a bad thing. Plus, he’s filthy rich.”

“Y/N—"

“Jealous, Ham?” You giggled softly, your fingers trailing the keys as you searched for the file your boss had asked for.

“Of course not,” he muttered. He let you work in silence for a moment before speaking again. “You’re down to five minutes.”

“I’ve got it.”

“Got what?” You straightened almost immediately, whirling around to find Tony Stark leaning against the door frame of the lab. His arms were crossed, and his face bore a nonchalance that seemed very out of place for the situation. His voice dripped with sarcasm. “I’ve had more than my own fair share of betrayal, but I never expected it from you, Princeton.”

You pursed your lips. “I hope you’re not looking for an apology.”

“I would never,” he drawled. “But I _am_ offended that you didn’t think I’d have a backup security system.”

“It wasn’t _my_ job to check,” you replied irritably, making sure Hamlet was aware of how unimpressed you were that the diversion hadn’t held up. “Guess that’s what I get for relying on other people.”

“If you want something done, you’ve got to do it yourself,” Stark shrugged and strode back to the lab bench, picking up your glasses from where they’d been discarded. “I guess these were just a fashion statement, then.”

“Last minute addition to the look. I thought you’d appreciate it.”

“Oh, I did. I did,” He tossed the glasses to the side, moving closer to where you stood leaning against the desk before the screens. “You know, until I saw you try to hack into my database.”

“I didn’t just _try_ ,” you scoffed with a smirk. “I succeeded.”

“Kudos. But I’m sure you understand that I can’t just let you walk away from this.”

“Don’t judge me too harshly, Mr. Stark,” You took a step toward him, discretely pulling your flash drive from the port and slipping it into your pocket. The file had downloaded. “A girl has to make a living somehow.”

“Y/N, be careful,” Hamlet said into the apparatus, knowing damn well that you would ignore him.

You lunged, one hand grasping his arm as you stepped around his body. You let the other hand knot in his hair. Once your grip was secure, you slammed his head down upon the desk. Stark let out a groan, blood trickling from his ear—a tell-tale sign of broken facial bones. You _might_ have been a tad too aggressive. Oh, well. No going back now.

He turned, reaching out for you and hooking a leg around yours in an attempt to knock you off balance. As you were tugged forward into his chest, you leapt up, your legs wrapping around his waist. Your forehead collided with his. His hold loosened, and you folded yourself backward, hands meeting the floor and holding the weight of your body as your legs kicked over to land just behind them. You straightened up.

“Come on, Princeton. Can’t we just kiss and make up?” he asked, seeming almost unaffected by your assault. You supposed that was what happens when you’d been in the business for as long as he had.

“I thought you were supposed to be the best of the best,” You pranced away to stand behind the lab bench you’d been working at earlier. “I was looking forward to a bit of a challenge.”

“Well, when I invited you here, I was expecting a little less sparring and a little more wine and mistakes. I think this is rather disappointing for both of us.”

You pouted. “How unfortunate.”

“Give me the flash drive, Honey.”

Suddenly, he shoved the lab bench backward, forcing it directly into your stomach. You let out a gasp, glaring at him. He shrugged with a slight smirk, and you braced your hands on the tabletop, disrupting the papers atop it. You rolled over the bench, alighting in a crouch on the other side of it—but not before you managed to land a side-thrust kick to his chest.

At that, he stumbled backward with a grimace.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” you drawled before he came at you again.

It was a dance: an elegant waltz of parries and hits, deflections and counter moves. Glass was shattered, furniture overturned, and skin met skin until drops of blood were spilled. It was a sea of laughs and groans when a blow was landed, a complex exchange of strikes born of pure skill. At the end of it all, you wondered if this had become less of a battle and more of an opportunity to show off to each other.

Eventually, Stark managed to push you back against the wall near the screens, pinning your arms above your head. Your faces were close together yet again, almost as close as they had been when you’d nearly kissed. This wasn’t good.

“I swear to God,” Hamlet muttered in your ear.

“When I imagined this, I’ll admit, it was under slightly different circumstances.” Stark whispered.

“But isn’t this so much more fun?” At that, you threw a knee up into his stomach, forcing him away from you. “Hands off.”

Before he was given the chance to fight back, you reached into your bosom and pulled out two small throwing knives. You let them fly, watching as he dodged them expertly.

He raised an eyebrow at you. “That was excessive.”

“Well, I guess _you_ would know better than anyone.”

“Ouch. That hurts, Princeton. I really thought we had something good going here.”

“Oh, please,” You rolled your eyes. “I’ve mastered enough of the art of distraction to know when somebody’s looking for one. You think I haven’t heard how rocky things have been between you and Little Miss Virginia Potts? Based on what I’ve seen of your personality, I’m not surprised she kicked you to the curb.”

“Excuse me?” he replied. It appeared you’d hit a nerve.

Good. It was time to end this.

“You’re excused,” you said, pulling another knife from your blouse. You took a step forward and threw it, this time managing to land a cut his cheekbone.

Stark lifted a finger to his cheek, wiping away some of the blood that trickled from his wound. He looked at you, all remnants of his flirty disposition gone. “I underestimated you.”

“Your mistake.”

“Maybe,” he replied. “But this—this is yours.”

He extended a hand as if he were beckoning something to him. And you’d read enough about the Iron Man technology to know exactly what that meant. The last thing you saw was a piece of red welded metal fashioned into the shape of a hand barreling toward you.

Everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly hated this chapter so much just because the Reader is such a bitch to Tony, and the Avengers: Endgame trailer made him a really touchy subject for me.  
> I'm suing Marvel for emotional distress on behalf of myself and Anthony Edward Stark.  
> Anyway, please let me know what you think!


End file.
